


No Sooner Looked, But Loved

by gemothy



Category: 16th & 17th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Elizabethan and Jacobean Theatre & Literature RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Anachronistic Dialogue, Drabble Collection, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A selection of drabbles and other short Will/Kit fics originally posted on my Tumblr blog. Historical errors are all my own fault and, on occasion, deliberate. I have no defence other than Will's own tendency to bend the truth to fit a better story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

Kit doesn’t usually watch his own plays.

It’s not that he’s shy or embarrassed, far from it- he’s just too busy watching the audience, gauging their reaction to see what could be improved. This time, however, there’s something different; some idiot player got himself killed while the company was on tour, and the new boy they picked up in Stratford to take his place is… interesting.

Kit thinks the new actor’s name is Will, his own age or thereabouts, except Will already has a wife and three children. It’s a shame, really, to waste such a pretty face, but if there’s a wife there might not be much point in bothering with him. Still, it might be worth a try; this Shakeshaft or Shagspear or whatever his name was had been perfectly willing to leave that family a hundred miles away, who knows what else he might do?

And so far, Kit’s impression of the new boy is that you genuinely can’t tell what he might do next. He’s clumsy and nervous, trips over his costume in dress rehearsals, but get him in front of an audience and he’s suddenly _brilliant_ \- graceful and funny and an instant hit with the groundlings. He even makes stuff up to cover for fluffed lines- and Kit hates to admit it, but it’s often very good.

In fact, now they’re coming to the end of act two, Kit can see his own frustration with the company’s principal clown mirrored on Will’s face. Kempe’s showing off (as bloody usual), and Kit finds himself halfway out of his seat before Will’s even finished cutting the fool off with a line so sharp that Kit almost forgets it’s not his own. He slips backstage, appearing from the shadows as Will ducks through the door.

"…Alright. Will, isn’t it? Nice work."

Will splutters, flails, and trips over his own feet. It’s oddly charming.

"I’m sorry, I just- we needed to move on, it’d be dark by the time he finished if I hadn’t shut him up."

"No no, you go ahead and tell him. Maybe someone who can do it on stage is what he needs. He certainly doesn’t listen to me, not even if I wave sharp implements in his face." Kit sniffs. "Speaking of sharp, that line was _fucking excellent_. You ever thought of writing something yourself?”

Will’s eyes go wide. “N-no. Well, yes. But I haven’t got a degree or anything, they won’t want any of my-“

"Yeah, they will. Handsome fellow like yourself… clever tongue…" Kit grins. "If you _can_ write, I’d suggest that you _do_ write. I’m not having this bunch of idiots fucking everything up forever.”

Will smiles, about to say something, until he hears his cue.

"I should go, else our clown will try to make _me_ look the fool.”

"Course." Kit nods. "But come and see me after this has finished and we’ll talk about writing, yeah?"

"Yeah." Will beams, and receives a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bum in return as Kit propels him towards stage left.

The fact that it makes him so flustered that he literally falls onto the stage is, hopefully, a sign of good things to come.


	2. Restless

Kit is a restless thing, never staying in one place for long, boots and quill and pipe tapping on every available surface. He wanders in the night, leaves books unfinished; it’s almost as if a life of false identities has left him aimlessly wandering in the moments where there isn't another disguise to put on.

And perhaps he’s a little paranoid, but he thinks that if he keeps moving and making a racket then whichever someone or something happens to reach him first might not come for him after all. For all his swagger on the city streets, Kit is so often afraid- afraid of a god and a fallen angel he’s not even sure he believes in, of dying alone and forgotten, of creeping back to Kent with nothing but the clothes he’s stood up in. So he wanders, fidgets, bites his nails, and generally causes as much irritation in other people as he can.

It’s only when the sky’s growing light and he’s talked himself hoarse that Kit finally becomes still, breathing in the smell of ink and tobacco and the best friend he’s ever had. For where there is Will, there is always a way to feel safe, even (especially) for a Canterbury boy with a hundred London secrets.


End file.
